A Great Comfort
by KimberlyTheOwl
Summary: Short missing scene for RoTK; Pippin struggles with the enormity of being alone in Minas Tirith.


A Great Comfort  
  
Author's Notes: This is just another little missing scene. Movie-verse, for the most part, but with some bits of dialogue straight from the book. We're in Minas Tirith with Pippin and Gandalf, during the first night that they are there, not long after the goings-on at Minas Morgul.  
  
My thanks to all of the kind souls who read and reviewed my first two LoTR fics. I am hoping that I can strike some of the same notes with this one.  
  
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Still shaking slightly, Pippin left the wide stone rail and followed Gandalf back into the common room. Someone, probably some discreet upper servant, had brought in a frugal supper and laid it on the stone table: bread, cheese, fruit, and a small pitcher of ale. He fell to hungrily, despite his fright of a few minutes ago, and soon was staring at the empty wooden plates as if he could cause more food to appear merely by wishing.  
  
"Why did you bring me here?" he burst out, somewhat petulantly.  
  
"To keep you safe, and to keep you from meddling in affairs best left to the Wise." Gandalf brought out his beautifully carved pipe, and a pouch of pipe-weed. "If you don't care for it, you must remember that you brought it upon yourself."  
  
Pippin considered for a moment. "Then why didn't you bring Merry, as well?" He toyed absently with his empty tankard, not looking up to meet Gandalf's eyes. "You could have brought us both along."  
  
Gandalf filled and lit his pipe. "I felt it was safe to let him stay, as Meriadoc seems to be able to do as he is told. Besides, he has his own destiny to fulfill. It may be that it is not the same destiny as yours."  
  
Stricken, Pippin looked up abruptly. "Do you mean... Gandalf, you don't mean that Merry is going to die, do you?" Unbidden tears filled his eyes at the thought, and he blinked them away angrily. "He is in danger, and you took me from his side?"  
  
"I am saying no such thing." Gandalf's voice remained even. "It is not given to me to know what will become of any of you, nor even to know how this great conflict will end. If you believe otherwise, you are being foolish, even more so than usual." He blew out a great puff of aromatic, blue-grey smoke. "The hour grows late, Peregrin Took, and tomorrow's summons will come early. I think it would be best if you carried your sleepy wits off to your bed."  
  
Pippin rose from the table his seat at the too-tall table. "Perhaps I shall do so," he answered, as steadily as he could, and headed for his little curtained alcove.  
  
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Pippin looked ruefully at the bed. It was Man-sized, of course, and so tall that he would have to be careful getting out of it in the morning. A fine soldier of the Tower he would look, if he injured himself falling from his bed before his service even began. But the bedding looked and smelled beautifully clean, and he shuddered briefly as he realized how filthy he and his clothing both had become.  
  
With a half-hearted twinge of curiosity, he walked the few steps to the small wardrobe that huddled at one end of the alcove. At first inspection in the dim light, it appeared to be empty, but he found a folded garment resting on the single low shelf. He shook it out and held it up; it proved to a soft grey woolen night-shirt. Much too large for a hobbit, but cleaner than anything he had brought with him.  
  
He stripped hurriedly and washed himself as best he could as the washstand; at least the basin and pitcher were Man-sized as well and therefore afforded him a generous amount of water. Shivering slightly in the cool night air, he slipped into the woolen shirt (it hung well to the floor) and clambered into the bed. He blew out the candle and lay back, startled by the unaccustomed softness of the bed. For many weeks, he had spent his nights wrapped in rough blankets on the cold, unyielding ground. Now, he had a thick mattress with fine wool blankets and worn but smooth linen sheets, all on a bed big enough for several hobbits.  
  
'Poor old Merry,' he thought, guiltily. 'He will be sleeping on the ground to-night, I am sure, and now he has only his own cloak and blanket to keep him warm. I do hope that Aragorn and the others look after him.'  
  
Pippin tried to put thoughts of Merry out of his mind, but once awakened, his loneliness could not easily be put to rest. He found the thought of sleeping in the large unfamiliar bed (in what seemed to him to be a vast echoing suite of rooms, in this fortress of cold grey stone perched high on a mountainside) a discouraging prospect at best. He thrashed about restlessly for a while, feeling exceedingly small and lost in the too-big bed.  
  
'Gandalf was right; I've no-one but myself to blame,' he thought, miserably. 'If only I'd left it alone and not meddled with that chunk of rock, I would be back with Merry and Aragorn and the rest, and the kind old King of Rohan... wherever they all are, now.'  
  
He felt tears rise to his eyes again; this time, he made no move to check them, but wept as quietly as he could, alone in the dark. Finally, sleep claimed him.  
  
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He awoke some time later, at first unsure of what had awakened him. Then he saw, outlined in the faint moonlight that shone through the single high window, the unmistakable outline of the wizard seated on the edge of his bed.  
  
"Gandalf," he whispered. "Has something happened?" He scrubbed at his tear- streaked face with his fists and started to sit up.  
  
The wizard's hand gently pushed him back down. "No, no, nothing has happened... nothing new, I should say. I am sorry to disturb you, my lad... but the truth is, I wished to speak with you." He reached his hand up to Pippin's forehead, and smoothed back the damp and tangled hobbit-curls. "I spoke harshly to you earlier, much more harshly than I ought to have done, and now I regret it very much."  
  
Pippin shook his head. "No, you had every right to speak so, Gandalf, of course you did. And I am frightfully sorry that I have made such a muddle of everything. I am sorry that you had to be bothered to bring me here with you." He seized the wizard's hand in his own and squeezed it affectionately.  
  
"Ah, perhaps it was meant to happen this way, lad," murmured Gandalf. "You see... sooner or later, I would have needed to come to Minas Tirith, to speak with Denethor, and to do what I could to see that the people of this city were prepared to meet the onslaught of the Shadow. I expected to leave all of you behind, and to come alone.  
  
But your foolishness, Peregrin, in seizing the Orthanc-stone, has allowed me to bring you with me. And I am certain that you will be a great comfort to me."  
  
"I will?" Pippin asked, bemused. "I, a comfort to you?"  
  
Gandalf smiled at him, a smile somehow both of great love and of great sadness. "Even wizards grow lonely, my boy, lonely for a familiar face and a kindly word. And I am Gandalf, and hobbits have been my business for a very long span of years. I should not truly be myself without at least one hobbit in my charge." He touched Pippin's face gently with one long finger, catching the lone tear that still stood upon the hobbit's cheek. "I know that you are lonely without your friends... but we shall look out for one another, you and I." His voice grew more quiet. "Sleep now, and do not be troubled."  
  
Pippin felt himself slipping back off to sleep, lulled by the quiet rumble of Gandalf's voice and the touch of his hand. He thought that perhaps he murmured an answer... but he couldn't be certain. 


End file.
